


I Try To Picture Me Without You (But I Can't)

by HematiteBadger



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Season 2, UST, episode tag (Mayura), ish, not shippy enough for the ship tag, too shippy for the gen tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:20:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22310191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HematiteBadger/pseuds/HematiteBadger
Summary: The man who thinks he has nothing left to lose keeps getting proven wrong.
Relationships: Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth & Nathalie Sancoeur
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	I Try To Picture Me Without You (But I Can't)

The city rarely ever sees Gabriel Agreste in person, hidden as he always is behind the walls of his home and the screens that connect him to the outside world. And it certainly never sees him as anything other than cold and collected, the distant and disdainful designer who has far too much going on in his own life to care a whit for anyone else's. He has crafted his image far too carefully to let it slip, and he is at all times aware of exactly what the city sees when it looks at him.

But today, any part of the city that cares to look up from its celebration of another crisis averted by its resident heroes will see him  _ running _ , hellbent and heedless as he tears through the streets of Paris, ignoring both the revelers around him and the pain that dogs his steps and threatens to send him sprawling. Anyone who looks closely enough will see the way his usual mask has fallen, giving way to the desperate despair of a man who still has so much to lose and knows he may already be too late to save it.

He knows all of this, knows that he's breaking every rule he has about what the world is allowed to see of him. But today, he doesn't care.

_ Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. _ The word reverberates in his head with every pounding footfall, aimed at a constantly-shifting target. At this entire city, and the fools within it who don’t understand his grand plans. At Nathalie, whose intelligence and level head have always been as valuable to him as her unflagging loyalty, and who should  _ know better _ than to allow one to override the other like this. At himself, for choosing to pretend that he didn't know she would do exactly that if she felt it necessary.

_ Let me show you a man who has nothing left to lose _ . 

_ Stupid _ . He said the words as if they were true, and now some malevolent force wants to ensure that they will be.

The house is empty, cold and cavernous and lonely as it always is, as Gabriel has grown accustomed to its being. But now that hollowness echoes in his bones as it hits him that even this vast and empty place could be made  _ more _ empty. There is a pain in his chest that has nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with the silent pleading that has drowned out all the other shouts in his head.  _ No. Not another one. Not again. _ That pain drives him forward even as all the other pains of his body try to drag him down, the hits that he took in the battle -- the  _ brawl _ ; what was he  _ thinking _ , how wildly desperate  _ was _ he -- growing harder to ignore. He fights past them as he has fought past every other obstacle that has dared to stand before him, tearing through the house with the same singularity of purpose with which he tore through the streets, not even taking the time to make sure that Adrien isn’t nearby before he activates the secret entrance. His son is elsewhere, safe with his bodyguard; Scarlet Moth saw to that at least. (Adrien  _ has _ to be safe, because Nathalie  _ isn't _ , and Gabriel can only focus on one crisis at a time right now.) He makes only the briefest pause before the room really comes into view, bracing himself for what he knows he might see before he forces himself to look.

The figure on the floor is all of his worst fears laid out before him, Nathalie collapsed on her side and surrounded by akumas that flit about her, dimly curious about this new intrusion. Her eyes are closed, her skin too pale, her body too slack and motionless, and Gabriel knows that he won't be able to breathe again until he sees her do so. The akumas fly up in a glowing cloud as he falls to his knees beside her, and for a moment he has the mad thought that he needs to protect her from them, waving them away and shielding her body with his. He touches her too-cool cheek and gently lifts her chin up, looking for any signs of life. "Nathalie. Nathalie,  _ please _ ."

There  _ is _ a shallow breath there, and a slow but steady pulse. Gabriel exhales helplessly, relief nearly collapsing him, and then his touch seems to set something off, because suddenly Nathalie's entire body is wracked by a violent, painful coughing fit. Gabriel forces down a new wave of fear -- she's alive, but who knows what kind of damage she might have suffered -- and gets an arm under her shoulders, drawing her up into a sitting position so that she can actually get some air. "It's all right," he promises her softly, trying to convince himself as much as her. "It's over now. You're safe. Just breathe."

There's a pause in the spasms, enough for Nathalie to draw a few real breaths, some of the color starting to come back to her face. But she's still barely conscious, eyes closed and face lined with pain, and when Gabriel touches her face again to get a better look at her she turns and presses her head against his chest, exhausted and hurting and needing something -- someone -- to lean on. He lets her, curling his arm around her to pull her closer and bending his head protectively over hers, breathing slowly and steadily as if it will encourage her to do the same. On her jacket the peacock pin glints dully, its power hidden once again, and he hates how much he wishes he could have seen it in action. Could have seen  _ her _ in action.  _ She must have been glorious _ .

The coughing starts up again, and with it the sick feeling in Gabriel's chest. She's hurt, and she's in danger, and it was all in service to him. She was willing to risk everything to save him, and now he has to do everything in his power to save her. With great difficulty he gets back to his feet with her in his arms, carrying her out of the observatory as if he's carrying her out of a burning building. She needs to be away from this place of dark and brooding power; even if he has no further understanding of what he can do for her he knows that much. She needs light, she needs air, she needs...

_ She needs to be somewhere that other people are allowed to know about, in case she needs medical attention _ .

The recriminations that have been jangling in his head now start accusing him of being selfish, of prioritizing his secrets over her safety, but he fights them down. These are  _ her _ secrets now, too --  _ was there ever a time when they weren't? _ \-- and if he doesn't protect himself then he can't protect her, either. And -- the thought hits him with a sort of grim humor and he grits his teeth in a parody of a smile -- she would definitely have something to say if he repaid all that she's done to keep his secrets safe by letting them be revealed anyway for her sake. He would never hear the end of it, although that still sounds more appealing than the silence he’s hearing from her now.

He carries her as far as he can before his own body starts to protest, and by the time he sets her down in a chair she's starting to come back to herself. He’s kneeling in front of her by the time she finally opens her eyes and really  _ looks _ at him, and when she does he feels like he's the one who's been rescued. Again. His attempts to reproach her are pleading, desperate, and he is already aware of their futility. Her eyes may be warm and tender as she smiles down at him, but they're still just as hard and unyielding as they are when she faces down a business associate on his behalf, refusing to bend in a negotiation with another designer, or a model, or Audrey. She is the immovable object to his unstoppable force, as she always has been, and even now that she’s using that determination to stand against him he can't help but admire her for it, as he always has. He's on his knees asking her to be a little  _ less _ devoted to him, and she's looking down on him and refusing to do so, and that doesn't feel as backwards as it should. He breathes out a sigh, torn between frustration and gratitude, and as his hand touches hers he decides to come down on the side of gratitude. He can't stop her and he can't deny that he needs her, so the least he can do is accept it with as much grace as he can manage. "Thank you, Nathalie."

Her hand turns to curl around his as if she's grateful for the touch, and a soft warmth flows into her smile for a moment before another bout of coughing pulls her away from him, makes her curl up on herself as if she's protecting a vulnerable spot. "I'm all right," she insists as soon as she has breath enough to do so, not even waiting for him to express his concern before trying to deflect it.

"You're not." He still knows how futile it is to argue with her, and yet he can't stop himself from at least trying. "You need a doctor."  _ And what will you tell them happened to her, Gabriel? How do you intend to explain this? _

Her expression is asking the same questions as the voice in his head, and even if she’s having a hard time keeping her head up her gaze is still solid and steady. "I'm all right," she repeats, squeezing her eyes closed and sighing. "I just need..."

"You need to rest," Gabriel cuts in, not letting her continue to prevaricate, and it's a small victory when she gives a little nod. He makes a weak sound that almost approaches a chuckle. "You can't help me if you're not going to help yourself."

That ghost of a smile is back as Nathalie shakes her head. "No, sir," she agrees, gently resigned. When Gabriel sighs his relief that she's not going to argue any further, she fishes for her phone. “I’ll see myself home. I imagine that you have enough to worry about withou-- Adrien!” She draws herself up quickly enough that she has to catch her breath, looking as worried as Gabriel isn’t allowing himself to feel yet. “Where is he?”

“He is in capable hands,” Gabriel assures her, distracting himself from the fact that he doesn’t know the answer to that question himself, and it’s apparently enough of an answer to quell her immediate concern. "You don’t need to worry. I won't let him be put at risk, not anymore. He has his bodyguard with him, and I… I trust my people." It’s something he needs to tell himself as much as he needs to tell her, and to try to believe it as much as she seems to at the moment.  _ One crisis at a time. _ "I will make  _ certain _ that he’s being properly taken care of as soon as I've done the same for you. Which I can't do if you're not here." Nathalie still has her phone raised, presumably to call for someone to drive her home, and he gently places a hand over it and pushes it down, urging her to look at him instead. She blinks at him, appropriately confused by this reaction, and he breathes out. "Stay. Please. Just... just until the dust settles. Until we know there aren't going to be any... aftereffects. Nobody will bother you in the guest suite, and if anything happens..." He trails off, not having an end to that sentence. What solution does he think he would actually be able to offer if some vague  _ something _ really did happen? "You'll at least be somewhere safe," he eventually manages.

Nathalie is looking startled again, knees up near her chest and her body language as wary as a wounded animal, but as Gabriel keeps on talking, keeps on making his absurd pitch at her, he can see her starting to relax a little. Believing him when he says she'll be safe here, or at least letting herself believe it even if they both know he can make no such guarantee. He can see her doing the math and weighing the options in her head, although he's not sure exactly what numbers she's using. Finally she lets go of a little breath, and with it some of that cold precision with which she always carries herself. "It would probably be better for everyone if nobody sees me like this," she says quietly, and it makes about as much sense as any argument that Gabriel has offered for keeping her here. Which means that it's enough to keep up the pretense that there's some  _ practical _ reason for this need to stay together a little while longer, that they're reacting reasonably rather than huddling together like children hiding from a thunderstorm. Her lip curls up ever so slightly as she looks at him again, rueful and apologetic even as she gives in, as if she still feels like she’s the one who’s causing the problem somehow.

He doesn't know what else to say, if there  _ is _ more to say, and so he simply nods and rises to his feet, which takes far more effort than he was expecting. He can feel every hit that those kids landed on him, and every year that he has on them besides. There's a  _ reason _ that he does all of his work from the shadows. He tries to cover up a wince as he reaches for her hand to help her out of the chair.

Of course it doesn’t work, not with all the practice Nathalie has had in reading him better than anyone else can. "You're hurt, too," she reminds him, just as gently scolding as he was, face just as creased with concern. She stands without his help, although unsteadily, and takes a few steps forward to get a better look at him.

"Only bruised," Gabriel insists, which is mostly true, and plenty of those bruises are in places he'd rather not discuss. Including his pride. Her wounds came from opening herself up to an ancient and unstable magical force in order to come to his rescue. His came from getting knocked around by a pair of superpowered teenagers. Given the circumstances, the idea of her trying to be the one to fuss over  _ him _ seems both backwards and demoralizing. He reaches out a hand to help stabilize her, touching her arm and inviting her in closer. "And it would have been much worse if you hadn't stepped in."

The look she gives him -- or doesn't give him, ducking her head abruptly -- says that she's not any more eager to be reminded of that part than he is. And maybe he shouldn't  _ want _ to remind her of it either, shouldn’t point out that this terrible risk she took paid off this time, but it's a hard truth that he can't shake. He  _ needed _ her in that moment, and she was there, and he can't help but be grateful for that, knowing what could have happened otherwise. But her voice is quiet when she speaks, and heavy with regret. "I should have done more. I would have, if I could."

Gabriel is keenly aware of how inappropriate it would be to wrap his arms around Nathalie, to hold her firmly enough to pull her away from this incomprehensible moment of self-doubt. It would be unprofessional, and undoubtedly unwelcome, and definitely awkward with as far out of practice as he is, but it still takes a bit of effort to push the unexpected desire away. He sighs softly. "You have already done everything."

Nathalie seems to have no immediate response to that, except to accept his silent invitation. She takes another step or two into his reach, starting to turn her head towards the hallway that he's trying to guide her down, towards the stairs and the guest suite. Gabriel tucks her against his side, easing her arm up around his back to give her a little bit of support, and her lack of resistance is indicator enough that she needs it. When they begin to take a step forward, however, they both falter, his aching steps hardly starting out any better than hers, and it's a long moment before they can actually make a move. For a while they simply lean on each other, slumped together, her hand digging into his ribs and his head bent low over hers. A pair of broken people, far beyond the reach of any lucky charm, doing what they can to make their own luck.

Eventually they try to move again, and this time they're both more steady, even if they continue to lean on each other. After a moment or two Gabriel is fairly certain that he could let go of Nathalie and walk on his own without too much difficulty, and he’s starting to think that she’d be equally all right if he did so. But he’s also fairly certain that neither of them  _ wants _ to let go of the other, and they're not going to risk upsetting whatever strange balance they've built by acknowledging that. Let it be, don't ask too many questions about it, and don't look too far ahead. As they have both done about so much over the years.

The guest suite is made up and aired out and ready for an occupant, as it always is. It's out of habit now, and some strange sense of order, more than the thought that anyone might ever stay there, that there might be some welcomed visitor to this lonely and isolated place, some intruder on the solitude that Gabriel has built for himself. Its pristine state seems almost to be a monument to that isolation. Even Nathalie, who has seen so many days of preparation for the launch of a new collection turn into all-night assignments that she keeps an overnight bag stashed in one of the hall closets during the busy season, has always caught her snatches of sleep in a convenient chair rather than impose herself on Gabriel's hospitality. Rather than pretend she is an actual  _ guest _ . That thought seems to hang over both of them, and Gabriel has to nudge himself to push them both over the threshold and into the empty and peaceful quiet beyond it. Once he does, though, once that final permission has been granted, Nathalie instantly sinks into the feeling of the room. The last vestiges of that careful grace she's been carrying herself with fall away, and her head sinks down to her chest with a deep sigh. She steps away from Gabriel delicately, startling slightly when he tries for the barest moment to hold onto her for a little longer.

The feeling is fleeting, Gabriel's worry given a life of its own and then fading into the background. He starts to leave, to let her be alone with her exhaustion and her vulnerability, but of course there's one more order of business that must be addressed. He clears his throat wordlessly, and when Nathalie turns back to face him he raises an eyebrow and holds out his hand.

For just the barest moment she tries to play dumb, her face carefully quizzical, as if she's hoping that he'll just forget what he's driving at. She knows better than to press her luck, though, and after a second she unclasps the peacock pin and drops it into his waiting hand. As his fingers close around it she tips her chin up at him, that cool defiance blazing in her eyes again. She's silent, but the look on her face is clear:  _ I will not hesitate to call on this power again if it is necessary. _

He looks back down at her, equally silent, his face equally clear:  _ I know _ .

The door closes behind him, leaving him alone in the hall, and he takes a moment to be relieved that that's one concern settled -- at least for the moment -- before moving on to the next one: composing himself and hiding his injuries well enough to appear as normal as possible when he seeks out his son and makes sure that he is unharmed. But as he begins to walk away, straightening his back and ignoring the pain as best he can for as long as he can, the peacock remains a heavy weight in his pocket. He takes it out again, looking at it in his hand and feeling like he will never be able to see it without remembering the glint of it on Nathalie’s jacket as she struggled to breathe, and the weight of her head against his chest. It would be so easy to keep it out of her reach. He could move it, or keep it on his person at all times, or even just change the combination on the safe... 

He pretends to give the idea some serious thought as he tucks the pin away again, but he knows in his heart that he'll do no such thing. Even with as dearly as he wants to keep her safe, he can't bring himself to reject anything that might give him an advantage in the fight to come. As in all aspects of his life that he has allowed her into, he now needs her far too much to let her go. The decision is made, then, and because he cannot prevent it he will instead choose to embrace it.

Mayura will rise again; no matter what either of them says or does they both know that this is true. And she will be  _ glorious _ .

And Gabriel can't wait to see it.


End file.
